


butterfly bandage (but don't worry)

by inlovewithnight



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 07:40:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Gabe was sick and Pete was there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	butterfly bandage (but don't worry)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lalejandra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalejandra/gifts).



> For Lalejandra, because doing things is hard. ♥ I wish this was half as good as the one you wrote me, bb, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

(December 2008)

The question Pete wants to ask, desperately, is _did they literally cut your throat?_ , but Gabe looks so utterly miserable that he bites down on it. "Hey, dude," he says instead. "You'll be up and dancing in no time."

Gabe glares at him and points at the glass of water next to his bed with a bendy straw in it. Pete obediently picks it up and hands it over. "Still on the good drugs?"

Gabe nods emphatically and gives him a thumbs-up. Pete has to laugh. "I asked Bianca how you're doing when I came in, and she just rolled her eyes and flipped me off before she left. I wasn't sure what that meant."

Gabe tugs at Pete's sleeve until he leans in, then whispers, "Means I'm a bad patient and she hates me."

"Don't talk." Pete shakes his head and touches Gabe's nose. "She doesn't hate you. But I bet you are a really fucking annoying patient."

Gabe shrugs and lets go. His hand drops to his own throat, touching absently, and Pete winces. "Hey." Gabe ignores him and Pete reaches out, catching his hand and threading their fingers together. "Hey. It's going to be fine." Gabe shakes his head, his jaw jutting out stubbornly, and Pete squeezes his hand. "It is. I say so."

Gabe's lips move and another bare whisper of air comes out. "Bossy."

"That's right." Pete sits down next to him, shifting over so Gabe can rest his head on Pete's thigh. "I'm the bossiest. You can go to sleep or I can tell you newborn stories. I've got a million." 

Gabe looks up at him and doesn't close his eyes.

 

(March 2009)

"Food poisoning," Pete echoes, leaning around Ryland to stare into the interior of the Cobra bus. "Food poisoning?"

"Yes," Ryland says flatly.

"Didn't you all eat the same thing?"

"He has food poisoning," Victoria says, crossing her arms over her chest. "He can't play tonight."

Pete tries to look around her without letting his eyes linger on her chest. "That is a problem."

Ryland's eyes flick to Victoria, then back to Pete. "We wouldn't do it to you if there was any way to avoid it."

"I know that." Pete's a little offended. He _knows_ that. The rules of being in a gang. "I'm gonna go talk to him."

Victoria nods and steps back, letting him by. Pete can feel Ryland staring at the back of his neck as he goes back into the bunks. Whatever. He's not an idiot.

Gabe's lying on his side, staring at the wall. Even in the shitty bus lighting, Pete can see that his skin is grayish and the circles under his eyes are dark as the eyeliner none of them wear anymore.

"Dude," he says softly. "Gabanti?"

"I'm sick," Gabe says, still staring at the wall. "Go away."

"You want some water?"

Gabe laughs and it sounds fucking horrible, like his throat is lined with... forget sandpaper. Broken glass. "Yeah. Sure."

Pete looks around and sees a bottle of water rolling around on the floor, not even opened yet. "Sit up and drink."

Gabe lies there for a minute, then finally obeys. "I'll be fine tomorrow."

"I know you will." Pete holds the bottle to Gabe's lips and waits, counting every time Gabe swallows. "I'm not worried."

 

(January 2010)

"Petey. Petey, c'mon out." Gabe's voice is slurring. Even over the phone Pete can picture him weaving on his feet. "Come out with me."

"It's late, Gabe." Pete stands in the one corner of the apartment where his phone actually works, willing it not to lose signal. "The baby's asleep."

"That's good. That means you can go out. Can't go out if he's still awake. Gotta take care of your baby."

Pete bites his lip and looks out the window. "Why do you want to go out?"

"Me? Oh." Gabe laughs. "I got dumped, brah. I got my ass just straight-up dumped. It's over."

"Bianca dumps you all the time. It doesn't--"

"This time it does." Gabe's voice is sharp, suddenly, sharp enough that Pete blinks and his fingers tighten on the phone. "She's done with me for real. It's _over_ over. Over." 

They breathe together in silence for a minute, and Pete can't think of anything to say.

"So come out with me," Gabe says finally. "I don't want to go out by myself tonight."

Pete nods. "I'm not dressed for the good clubs."

"Then we'll go to your shitty club and you can comp me drinks all night." 

There's an edge to Gabe's voice that Pete doesn't like, but there's a shadow under it that he can't say no to. "Okay. Okay. I'll be right down."

 

(December 2010)

Pete sits in the pick-up lane at LAX, staring at the rows of cars. This was probably a mistake. Ashlee definitely wasn't happy about him leaving the house at this hour on Gabe's say-so. And she maybe has a point; Gabe's say-sos haven't made sense for a while now.

But having a crew means being there for them, and if Pete's going to start failing at that now, he might as well pack it in and give up on everything.

His phone buzzes and he sits up, checking the screen. _on my way out i see you don't move_. Gabe.

He looks up and sees Gabe walking toward him, backpack over his shoulder and rolling bag behind him. Pete's brain whites out at the sight, and the first thing he says when the door opens is probably the most stupid thing possible.

"Holy crap, Gabanti. You look like shit."

Gabe laughs and swings the backpack into the passenger seat. "Wow. Hi, Pete, how are you?"

"I'm good. I'm fine. You look like _shit_." Gabe somehow misplaced 20 pounds he did not have to spare. His skin is yellow-tinged and stretched tight over his bones. But his eyes are clear, bright over the rims of his stupid sunglasses. He looks directly at Pete and doesn't flinch. He's not wavering on his feet. It's like a complete mix of the best and worst things Pete can think of for him.

"I feel amazing," Gabe says firmly. "Open the back."

Pete hits the button to pop the locks. "You feel amazing? You're skin and bones. I need to take you to Taco Bell."

"I've achieved spiritual clarity." Gabe swings his suitcase into the back and slams the door. "My mind and my spirit are clear."

"And your pee?" Pete asks. "Is that, like, black with hallucinogens?"

"No, it's clear, too. I've been living on rice and water." Gabe gets settled in his seat and slips his glasses off, giving Pete a broad grin. "You'd be amazed what that does."

"I bet I wouldn't be." Pete doesn't know why his back feels so weird, then realizes it's because his shoulders have relaxed. This is the Gabe he remembers. "C'mon and hug me."

Gabe does, warm and tight. "And yeah, we gotta fucking go to Taco Bell."

 

(January 2013)

"I have pneumonia." 

Pete smiles a little and shakes his head. "Yeah, dude, I saw that online."

"Who the fuck gets pneumonia anymore? I thought that was one of the ones we wiped out."

"No. Not even close." Pete leans back in his seat. "You're thinking of, like, polio."

"And TB."

"No, people still get that, too."

"Well, what the fuck."

"I don't know what to tell you." It's really fucking early. Pete rubs his eyes and thinks about how he's too fucking old to hang out in a studio all night. "Take your antibiotics."

"Yes, _dad_."

"Fuck you."

"You wish." Gabe sighs. It rattles a little and Pete winces. Gabe's such an idiot, getting this sick. "How's the secret of the century going?"

"Fuck you again." Not the century. Decade at best. "It's fine."

"Fine or good?"

"Good."

"Yeah?"

"God. Yes." 

"Good." Gabe coughs. "Then tell them to put it on pause and fucking come visit me. I need a hug."

Pete smiles into the phone. "If you need a hug, I'm on the next plane, man. You know it."

"Bring me tacos, too. And maybe, like, a teddy bear?"

"I love you, brother." Pete's had his ticket since he saw Gabe's post. "I'm on my way."


End file.
